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SIMILITUDES 


FROM     THE 


OCEAN   AND   THE   PRAIRIE 


L*&R€0^ 


BOSTON: 

JOHN  P.  JEWETT  AND  COMPANY 

CLEVELAND,  OHIO  : 
JEWETT,  l'BOCTOB,  AND  WORTHING  TON. 

1854. 


Entered  aoc:>r<lhig  to  Act  of  Congress,  -n  the  year  1853,  by 

John  F.  Jfcwi/rr  &.  Co., 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  oj  :h?  District  'J.mrt  of  this  Distric,'  of  Massachusetts. 


PRESS    OP    GEO.    C.    RAND, 

WOOD      CUT     AND     BOOK     PRINTER, 

CORNHILL,    BOSTON. 


STEREOTYPED  AT  THE 
IOSTON    STEREOTYPE    FOUNDRY. 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 

The  Wasted  Flowers, 9 

The  Blackbirds, 11 

The  Rose  on  the  Rock, 13 

The  Wind  in  the  Pines,       15 

The  Laughing  Water, 19 

The  Gnarled  Tree,       22 

The  First  Autumn  Leaf, 23 

The  Butterfly  in  the  Dust, 25 

The  Hidden  Cascade, 27 

The  Fort  on  the  Beach, 31 

Buttercups  and  Dandelions, 33 

A  Page  from  Nature's  Book, 36 


Impressions  of  Raindrops, 38 

The  Lost  Gem, 40 

Death  of  the  Bud  and  the  Blossom,     ...  45 

La  Montagne  qui  trempe  a  l'Eau,      ....  47 

M42657 


6  CONTENTS. 

>The  Whippoorwill, 49 

The  Child  and  the  Fireflies, 51 

The  Great  Palimpsest. 53 

Rainbows  every  where, 53 

The  Song  before  the  Storm, 61 

Flowers  beneath  dead  Leaves 63 

Mississippi  and  Missouri, 65 

The  Moon, 67 

The  Prairie  Violets,   .     . 69 

The  Web  in  the  Path, 71 

Lilla's  Lilies, 73 

The  Maid  of  the  Mist, 74 

Our  Father's  House, 79 

Light  on  the  Clouds, 81 

The  Boy  and  the  Orange  Tree, 8  5 

The  Doves  in  the  Court  House, 85 

The  Broken  Icicle, 87 

The  Veiled  Star, 89 

The  Fairy  in  the  Ice  Forest, 91 

The  Steam  Whistle, 94 

Dew  on  the  Grass  Blade, 9; 

The  Sea  and  the  Skv, 93 

A  Gleam  of  Sunshine, 10^ 

The  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit, io> 


1  -  J  it«-:    =S&^ 


WA8TBD   PLOWBBS. 


SIMILITUDES. 


',.'}>*        a 


THE  WASTED   FLOWERS. 

On  the  velvet  bank  of  a  rivulet  sat  a  rosy 
child.  Her  lap  was  filled  with  flowers,  and  a 
garland  of  rosebuds  was  twined  around  her 
neck.  Her  face  was  as  radiant  as  the  sunshine 
that  fell  upon  it,  and  her  voice  as  clear  as  that 
of  the  robin,  singing  at  her  side. 

The  little  stream  went  rippling  on,  while,  with 
every  gush  of  its  music,  the  child  lifted  a  flow- 
er in  her  dimpled  hand,  and,  laughing  gayly, 
threw  it  upon  the  water.  In  her  glee,  she  for- 
got that  her  treasures  were  growing  less ;  and, 
with  the  quick  motion  of  childhood,  she  threw 
them  one  after  another  upon  the  sparkling  tide, 
until  every  bud  and  blossom  had  disappeared. 


10  THE    WASTED    FLOWERS. 

Then,  seeing  her  loss,  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and,  weeping,  called  aloud  to  the  stream,  "  Bring 
back  my  flowers  !  n 

But  the  rivulet  danced  along,  regardless  of 
•;ljer.sorro.w,  .  While:  it  bore  the  blooming  bur- 
de'if  away^ieVWrd's  were  sent  back  by  a  taunt- 
;%^^o;/a{qpg|j^  reedy  margin.  And  long 
after,  amid  the  "wailing  of  the  breeze  and  the 
fitful  bursts  of  childish  grief,  was  heard  the 
unavailing  cry,  "  Bring  back  my  flowers  !  " 

Merry  maiden,  who  art  idly  wasting  the  pre- 
cious hours  of  youth,  see,  in  the  thoughtless, 
impulsive  child,  an  emblem  of  thyself.  All  thy 
moments  are  perfumed  flowers.  Let  their  fra- 
grance be  diffused  in  blessings  on  all  around 
thee,  and  ascend  as  sweet  incense  to  their  be- 
neficent Giver. 

Else,  when  thou  hast  carelessly  flung  them 
all  away,  and  seest  them  receding  upon  the 
swift  waters  of  time,  thou  wilt  cry,  in  tones 
more  sorrowful  than  those  of  the  weeping  child, 
"  Bring  back  my  flowers  !  "  And  thy  only  an- 
swer will  be  an  echo  from  the  shadowy  Past. 
"  Bring  back  my  flowers  !  " 


THE   BLACKBIRDS. 

The  air  is  full  of  music.  A  shower  of  black- 
birds has  rained  down  upon  the  poplar  trees 
before  the  door,  and  the  bare  branches  look  as 
if  they  had  suddenly  put  forth  a  thick  foliage 
of  ebony.  There  the  birds  sit,  and  warble  out 
a  wild  tangle  of  melody,  which  so  winds  and 
twists  itself  among  the  ringing  chords  within, 
that  it  is  hard  to  tell  whether  the  car  or  the 
heart  is  listening. 

0,  they  are  gone  !  It  was  but  "  Look !  sister/' 
and  away  they  flew.  They  have  paused  on  the 
adjacent  hazels  just  long  enough  to  chirp  a 
farewell,  and  again,  with  a  breezy  flutter,  they 
are  upon  the  wing.  Somewhere  their  melody 
is  still  heard  ;  but  they  sing  to  us  no  more. 

Pretty  birds !  they  were  like  the  happy  and 
innocent  thoughts  that  come  swarming  to  us 

11 


12  THE    BLACKBIRDS. 

in  the  dewy  springtime  of  life.  Hovering  on 
the  borders  of  infancy,  which  lies  behind  us 
like  a  meadow  full  of  sweet  white  blossoms, 
they  weave  us  a  carol  of  blended  hope,  and 
love,  and  joy.  But  one  word  too  rudely  spoken, 
—  one  cold  blast  of  reality,  —  and  they  leave 
us  to  lonely  silence.  We  watch  the  waving 
of  their  wings  in  the  sunny  distance,  and  sigh 
because  they  will  no  longer  sing  before  the 
threshold  of  our  hearts. 


THE    ROSE   ON  THE   ROCK. 

There  was  a  bare  ledge  of  rock  lying  with 
its  opaque  surface  exposed  to  the  burning  sun. 
The  plain  around  was  arid  and  dull,  with  scarce- 
ly an  object  to  interest  the  eye.  But,  from  a 
fissure  in  the  rock,  a  wild  rose  bush  lifted  one 
tender,  solitary  bough,  whose  soft  leaves  seemed 
like  polished  emeralds  in  a  rough  setting.  No 
sister  bush  smiled  back  upon  its  loveliness ;  but 
the  roses  poured  out  their  wealth  of  perfume 
upon  the  winds  of  the  wilderness  ;  and,  when 
their  breath  was  spent,  dropped  in  smiles  upon 
their  flinty  pillow,  and  died. 

Such  is  the  Christian's  life,  when  afar  from  the 
kindred  of  his  soul.  If  human  hearts  around  him 
are  lifeless  and  cold,  revealing  no  spot  fertile 
enough  to  bring  to  life  the  seeds  of  holiness  that 
Heaven  scatters  every  where,  he  does  not  for 

11 


14  THE    KOSE    ON    THE    ROCK. 

this  shut  his  heart  in  upon  itself,  scorning  the 
desolate  scene.  He  is  glad  that  even  one  liv- 
ing spiritual  germ  has  made  its  home  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  earth.  And  when  his  spirit  ex- 
hales into  the  atmosphere  of  his  native  para- 
dise, the  fragrance  of  his  memory  lingers  long 
behind  him,  to  show  that  he  has  not  lived  in 
vain. 


THE    WIND   IN   THE   PINES. 

"  Move  !  move  !  "  cried  the  hoarse  Wind  in 
the  Pine  Tree  tops.  "  You  stiff  old  Pines  are 
good  enough  in  your  way,  only  you  are  so  im- 
movable. It  is  my  business  to  make  all  bend 
before  me  ;  and  there  are  poisonous  weeds  pro- 
tected by  your  shade  that  I  want  to  blow  down. 
So  move  !   move  !  " 

"  Nay,  Wind,"  said  the  Pines,  "  we  shall  not 
move  for  a  noisy,  hasty  fellow  like  you.  You 
may  make  the  clouds  and  the  waves  fly  before 
you,  or  shake  the  boughs  of  trees  more  flexible 
than  we  are  ;  and  you  are  welcome  to  brush  the 
dust  from  our  heads  ;  but  you  shall  do  nothing 
more.  It  is  well  that  there  is  something  firm 
enough  to  withstand  your  levelling  blasts.  Ten- 
der blossoms  and  useful  shrubs  and  vines  look 
to  us  for  a  shelter.     Do  not  think  that  you  will 

15 


1G  THE    WIND     IN    THE     PINES. 

be  permitted  to  destroy  us  and  them,  just  to 
overthrow  a  few  vile  weeds." 

Then  the  Wind  grew  angry,  and  blew  a  furi- 
ous gust,  which  caused  two  or  three  of  the 
tallest  trees  to  fall  with  a  heavy  crash. 

"  They  were  decayed  to  the  pith,"  murmured 
the  standing  Pines. 

"  Keep  straight  while  you  are  sound,  then," 
answered  the  Wind,  as  he  went  whistling  away  ; 
"  but  when  you  get  rotten  hearted,  you  also  will 
have  to  come  down."  i 


M 


LAUGHING   WATER. 


THE    LAUGHING  WATER. 

Minne-ha-ha,  (Laughing  Water,)  most  fitting 
and  beautiful  of  Indian  names ! 

You  may  find  the  cascade  that  Nature's  red- 
complexioned,  unmitred  priest  thus  long  ago 
christened,  far  up  in  the  north-west,  where  the 
Minnesota  runs  hastily  down  to  take  a  gulf- 
ward  journey,  under  the  protection  of  the  Fa- 
ther of  Waters. 

But,  first,  you  come  upon  a  lake,  blue,  rip- 
pling, translucent ;  and  just  so  wide  that  the 
fawn,  cropping  the  herbage  on  yonder  side,  fell 
by  the  arrow  of  the  Sioux  hunter  on  this,  with- 
out hearing  his  moccasoned  foot  slip  among  the 
pebbles,  when  he  stooped  to  take  aim. 

In  this  lake's  side  one  small  vein  is  opened, 
and  the  azure  fluid  glides  across  a  prairie,  where 

19 


20  THE    LAUGHING    WATER. 

the  peaceful  south  wind  hums  a  constant  lullaby, 
now  seldom  broken  by  the  echoes  of  war  songs 
and  murderous  yells,  borne  from  the  conflict 
of  Dahcotah  and  Chippewa  braves. 

Following  this  thread  of  sapphire,  thrown  as 
a  clew  at  your  feet,  you  presently  meet  a  dance 
of  eddies,  hither,  thither,  and  around,  like  a 
troop  of  children  hurrying  to  whisper  in  each 
other's  ears  some  ripe  plan  of  daring  fun.  A 
step  farther,  and  the  waters  are  leaping  with 
a  laugh  over  a  jutting  rock,  that  looks  into  a 
narrow  abyss,  scores  of  feet  below.  They  slip 
off  in  a  close,  quick  embrace  ;  then,  bursting 
apart  into  a  thousand  diamond  drops,  they  are 
set  in  the  glory  of  a  rainbow  crescent,  half 
way  down  the  chasm. 

If,  while  your  eye  chases  the  Laughing  Wa- 
ter down  into  that  sheeny  bow,  which  rests  on 
either  bank,  among  tree  tops  dark  with  boreal 
verdure,  so  sombre  a  thought  as  that  of  death 
should  flit  across  your  mind,  it  would  be  fringed 
with  a  misty  brightness,  like  an  object  beheld 
through  a  prism. 


THE    LAUGHING    WATER.  21 

You  would  tell  yourself  that  it  were  no  sad 
transition  to  pass  suddenly,  like  these  joyous 
waters,  from  a  cheerful  and  stainless  course, 
letting  the  pureness  of  your  life  weave  you  a 
halo,  a  rainbow  crown,  as  you  fall  into  the  dim 
chasm  of  the  grave. 


THE    GNARLED  TREE. 

A  gnarled  tree  was  standing  in  a  brook,  on 
a  tiny  island  formed  partly  by  its  own  jagged 
roots.  Its  bare  branches  looked  as  though  they 
had  not  grown  cheerfully,  but  had  thrust  them- 
selves forth  in  spiteful  crookedness,  daring  the 
sunshine  to  smile  upon  them.  But  the  small 
island  at  the  roots  of  the  tree  was  covered 
with  tender  twigs  and  soft,  green  moss  ;  and 
the  dimpled  waters  took  the  hue  of  its  smiling 
verdure. 

Hard  by,  in  a  rude  cabin,  lived  a  lonely, 
crabbed  old  man,  with  one  bright  little  son, 
who  seldom  saw  a  smile  upon  his  father's  face. 
If  that  father  ever  cast  a  glance  from  his  thresh- 
old towards  this  tree,  on  its  isolated,  mossy 
island,  he  saw  his  own  portrait,  daguerreotyped 
by  Nature  there. 

22 


THE    FIRST  AUTUMN   LEAF. 

A  boy  sits  by  an  open  door  in  the  clear  light 
of  an  autumn  day.  The  sceptre  of  the  frost  king 
has  just  been  laid  upon  a  noble  oak  before  the 
door ;  and  while  the  boy  looks  out  into  the 
shade,  its  first  withered  leaf  floats  in  on  the 
sighing  wind,  and  drops  upon  the  floor  beside 
him.  The  merry  child  laughs  to  see  it  fall, 
and  holds  it  up  in  triumph  to  the  gaze  of  his 
companions. 

Thoughtless  one !  thou  dost  not  dream  how 
like  thy  conduct  is  to  that  of  ungenerous  souls 
who  rejoice  to  mark  the  first  token  of  decay 
in  a  gifted  mind  —  who  exult  when  the  mighty 
are  shorn  of  their  strength. 

Not  thus  wilt  thou  laugh  when  thine  own 
vigor  is  departing.     0,  learn  not  to  look  proud- 

23 


24  THE     FIRST    AUTUMN     LEAF. 

ly  on  beauty,  intellect,  or  earthly  possessions  ; 
but,  raising  thine  eyes  in  trusting  hope  to  the 
unfading  groves  that  border  the  river  of  life, 
say,  humbly,  "  We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf." 


THE   BUTTERFLY  IN  THE    DUST. 

A  butterfly  was  lying,  one  midsummer  noon, 
in  a  dusty  road.  There  were  stately  trees  on 
either  hand,  whose  green  robes  seemed  sprin- 
kled with  ashes.  Flowers  bloomed  pallidly  by 
the  roadside,  and  the  grass  wore  no  longer 
its  vivid,  vernal  hue.  The  golden  sun  shone  in 
pitiless  splendor  over  all ;  yet  its  rays  scarce- 
ly revealed  the  pencilled  tints  on  the  wings 
of  the  poor  insect,  they  were  so  beclouded  and 
dimmed. 

Was  this  the  butterfly's  home  ?  No  ;  it  had 
left  the  cool,  forest  glen,  where  willows  shaded 
a  calm  pool  from  the  noonday  glare,  in  search 
of  pleasanter  haunts  and  brighter  skies.  A 
while  it  lay  panting  ;  then  lifted  its  wings  to 
fly,  fell  fluttering,  and  was  buried  in  the  dust. 

25 


26      THE  BUTTERFLY  IN  THE  DUST. 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  soul,  a  Heaven-born  one, 
suffocated  by  earthly  prosperity,  dying  of  too 
much  sunshine,  its  pinions  clogged  and  weighed 
down  by  the  drossy  ashes  men  call  gold,  until 
it  could  not  even  flutter  towards  immortality? 
It  was  a  butterfly  in  the  dust. 


THE   HIDDEN   CASCADE. 

Beneath  one  of  the  giant  bluffs  that  rise  in 
the  great  Valley  of  the  West  is  a  low,  rock- 
roofed  cave,  that  recedes  far  into  the  base  of 
the  bluff,  until  its  windings  become  invisible  in 
the  gloom.  If  you  stoop  at  the  mouth  of  this 
cave,  and  listen,  you  may  hear  a  cascade  within 
making  music  in  the  darkness.  Neither  the  sun- 
beam nor  the  eye  of  man  may  glance  upon  its 
dashing  spray  ;  yet  its  tuneful  fall  never  ceases. 
A  clear  rivulet  glides  from  the  mouth  of  the 
cave,  and,  after  leaving  its  freshness  upon  the 
shapeless  rocks,  moves  on  to  pour  itself  into 
the  mighty  river. 

The  poet's  fount  of  inspiration  is  like  that 
hidden  cascade.  Sweet  and  refreshing  are  the 
strains  that  gush  from  his  soul  to  gladden  the 
arid  wastes  of  life  ;  but  to  him  their  melody 

27 


28  THE    HIDDEN    CASCADE. 

seems  feeble,  their  sparkle  pale.  He  feels  that 
his  richest  thoughts  must  be  unuttered,  or  but 
dimly  symbolized  to  mankind. 

Other  hearts  are  soothed  and  cheered  by  his 
songs,  while  he  is  left  to  the  solitude  of  his 
own  deep  emotions.  The  multitude  may  pass 
him  by  unnoticed  ;  yet,  if  there  be  a  few  to 
whom  he  may  yield  an  echo  of  the  thoughts 
which  cannot  be  wholly  revealed,  let  him  be 
satisfied.  Is  it  not  better  to  be  loved  and  ap- 
preciated by  a  few,  than  only  to  be  smiled  upon 
by  all  ? 

And  even  if  blessed  sympathy  be  denied  him, 
he  need  not  be  lonely,  nor  envy  the  bliss  of 
lower  minds  ;  for  there  is  always  music  in  his 
soul. 


,  I  > 


THE  FORT   ON  THE   BEACH. 


THE    FORT   ON  THE    BEACH. 

A  child  was  wont  to  choose  for  her  play- 
place  the  ruins  of  a  fort  on  the  beach  —  a  relic 
of  the  Revolution. 

At  home,  the  other  children  laughed  at  her, 
because  she  was  absent  minded,  and  asked 
strange  questions,  and  liked  to  read  the  "  Ara- 
bian Nights  "  better  than  to  play.  So  she  often 
came  down  to  the  old  fort  alone  ;  and  when 
she  was  tired  of  building  Puritan  meeting  houses 
and  Persian  temples  with  the  falling  rocks,  she 
would  lean  her  head  against  the  wall,  and  make 
dream  palaces  out  of  the  clouds  and  colored 
mists  that  lay  upon  the  distant  sea  horizon. 
Splendid  airy  structures  they  were  ;  and  the 
child's  heart  lived  in  them,  while  they  lasted, 
more  earnestly  than  in  hex  every-day  life. 

The  little  girl  grew  up  to  womanhood  at  a 

31 


6A  THE    FORT    ON    THE    BEACH. 

distance  from  her  seaside  home.  When  she 
walked  again  upon  the  beach,  she  could  see  no 
fairy  buildings  in  the  dull  mists  that  hung  over 
the  water  ;  for  Toil  and  Care  had  been  throw- 
ing dust  into  Fancy's  eyes. 

The  waves,  also,  had  washed  away  the  foun- 
dations of  the  fort,  so  that  no  one  could  guess 
its  original  purpose. 

It  seemed  to  her,  gazing  at  childhood's  strong- 
hold of  pleasure,  all  gone  to  wreck,  that  what 
men  call  real  is  scarcely  more  enduring  than 
the  visions  of  romance.  The  fort  and  the  cloud 
palace  had  alike  disappeared. 

Then  she  was  certain  that  the  only  "  city 
that  hath  foundations  "  is  the  one  revealed  to 
the  soul  by  Faith. 


BUTTERCUPS   AND   DANDELIONS. 

There  was  an  enmity  between  the  Dande- 
lions and  the  Buttercups  growing  together  in 
a  field  on  the  bank  of  the  Merrimac.  The 
Buttercups  laid  a  preemption  claim  to  the  soil, 
for  they  had  grown  there  when  none  but  cop- 
per-colored feet  pressed  down  the  grass  around 
them.  The  Pawtucket  squaws  used  to  throw 
the  golden  blossoms  to  their  pappooses  for  play- 
things, when  they  left  them  rolling  about  in  the 
shade  of  the  wigwams.  After  that,  little  chil- 
dren of  Mayflower  ancestry  ran  about  the  river 
side,  gathering  them  to  remind  their  parents  of 
May  day  in  the  motherland. 

But  when  the  colonists  planted  the  seeds 
which  they  had  brought  over  the  sea,  the  Dan- 
delion sprang  up  among  them  ;    and  soon  the 

3  33 


34      BUTTERCUPS  AND  DANDELIONS. 

spot  where  the  Buttercups  grew  was  thickly 
spangled  with  its  starry  flowers.  At  first,  the 
intruders  were  looked  down  upon  with  silent 
disdain  ;  but,  seeing  that  they  were  likely  to 
be  crowded  out  of  a  foothold,  the  Buttercups 
dropped  their  numerous  seeds  in  silence,  and 
grew  up  vigorously  every  spring. 

The  Dandelions  were  not  to  be  outdone  :  they 
employed  every  light  breeze  as  a  messenger  to 
bear  the  plumes  from  their  downy  globes,  and 
lodge  them  at  the  very  feet  of  their  unaccom- 
modating neighbors. 

By  and  by  a  farmer  came  into  the  field. 

"  Joshua,"  said  he  to  his  son,  striking  his 
spade  into  the  ground,  "it  is  a  shame  to  let 
such  a  swarm  of  yellow  weeds  eat  up  this  rich 
loam.  Indian  corn  is  a  good  thing,  although 
we  get  it  from  the  red-skinned  savages  ;  and 
I  like  rye  bread,  too,  for  it  smacks  of  merry 
Old  England.  Bring  over  the  plough,  boy  ;  and 
as  soon  as  we  can  get  the  land  ready,  we  will 
put  it  down  half  in  corn,  and  half  in  rye." 

The  next  day  the  flowers  and  their  feuds  were 


BUTTERCUPS    AND    DANDELIONS.  35 

buried  under  the  clods  turned  up  by  the  plough. 
The  next  year,  and  even  until  now,  the  useful 
crops  ripened  peacefully  side  by  side,  under  the 
hands  of  skilful  cultivators.  None  who  reap  the 
harvests  trouble  themselves  because  one  is  na- 
tive and  the  other  foreign  grain. 


A   PAGE   FROM  .NATURE'S   BOOK. 

Nature's  book  is  never  sealed.  Its  pages  are 
ever  unfolding  with  new  and  delightful  instruc- 
tion. It  opens  now  to  pictures  of  sombre  tint, 
and  lines  of  grave  import,  in  the  tracery  of 
sober  Autumn.  Read  ye  one  short  and  whole- 
some lesson. 

Behold,  in  the  depth  of  the  wooded  ravine, 
how  the  green  grass,  untouched  by  the  frost, 
yet  softly  lingers  ;  and,  quietly  and  slowly,  the 
stream  wanders  among  the  verdure.  High 
above  towers  the  majestic  oak.  In  his  sum- 
mer pride,  he  looked  down  upon  the  grass  and 
the  stream,  like  a  monarch  from  his  throne. 

Where  now  is  his  glory?  The  frost  has 
touched  his  emerald  coronal,  and,  fading,  it  falls 
to  the  ground  :  his  loftiness  only  exposes  his 
isolation. 

36 


A  PAGE  FROM  NATURE^  BOOK.      37 

Why,  0,  why  will  not  man  learn  the  blessed- 
ness of  contentment  in  a  lowly  sphere?  The 
loftiest  head  must  bear  the  fiercest  wrath  of  the 
tempest.  Blighting  care,  and  the  frosts  of  cal- 
umny, fall  first  upon  the  famous  and  powerful ; 
and  when  strength  and  beauty  fail  them,  the 
eyes  of  a  sneering  world  are  upon  their  stately 
helplessness. 

But  the  streams  of  secure  happiness  water 
the  vales  of  sequestered  life.  And  upon  their 
banks  the  virtuous  soul  may  enjoy  a  long  youth- 
fulness  of  heart,  may  flourish  in  a  hale  and  cheer- 
ful old  age,  gaining  nearer  glimpses  of  heaven 
through  the  barrenness  which  follows  the  sum- 
mer glory  of  human  pride. 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   RAINDROPS. 

In  the  days  of  early  mystery,  before  men 
were,  when  the  cavernous  earth  was  haunted 
with  strange  shapes,  to  which  the  learned  have 
given  strange  names,  —  the  ichthyosaurus,  the 
megatherium,  and  the  pterodactyle,  —  the  trans- 
lators of  the  fossil  writing  in  the  rocks  tell 
us  that,  at  various  epochs,  floods  of  ruin  swept 
over  the  yet  unformed  globe. 

Then  the  forests  of  tree  fern  were  submerged  ; 
then  uncouth  reptiles  were  petrified  in  the  fis- 
sures where  they  had  crept  to  hide  from  the 
crashing  elements  ;  and  then  were  shells,  plants, 
and  leaves  arranged  in  that  vast  subterranean 
cabinet  which  is  the  wonder  of  recent  ages. 

Nor  these  alone.  When  the  chaotic  turmoil 
began  to  subside,  and  a  new  order  of  life  was 
struggling  up  from  the  ruin,  light  showers  of 

38 


IMPRESSIONS    OF    RAINDROPS.  39 

rain  fell  upon  the  seething  expanse,  and  left 
perfect  impressions  of  their  drops  in  the  then 
soft  adamant. 

If  thus  the  secrets  of  the  material  world  have 
been  engraved  and  are  revealed,  shall  thy  his- 
tory, 0  soul,  be  left  to  pass  into  oblivion  ? 

All  that  lies  hidden  within,  the  low  desire, 
the  dark,  unholy  motive,  must  at  last  be  up- 
heaved to  light  from  the  overlying  strata  of 
time  and  forgetfulness.  And  so  shall  all  that 
is  noble,  pure,  and  true. 

And  if,  when  the  surges  of  passion  are  grow- 
ing calm,  tears  of  penitence  follow  the  commo- 
tion, they,  too,  shall  leave  their  lasting  impress, 
and  be  recognized  as  having  antedated  a  new 
and  sublimer  life. 


THE   LOST   GEM. 

Heavy  and  black  rolled  the  waves  of  the 
river  of  death.  One  approached  them  whose 
features  bore  traces  of  devouring  sorrow.  With 
a  bowed  form  she  gazed  into  the  turbulent 
stream,  as  if  she  would  fain  descry  something 
far  down  in  its  fathomless  depths. 

A  being  of  benign  and  celestial  aspect  ap- 
peared at  her  side,  and  said,  "What  seekest 
thou,  sorrowing  one  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  she  answered,  "  I  wore  a  sparkling 
jewel  upon  my  bosom.  It  was  no  paltry  bawble  ; 
but  a  monarch's  gift,  and  beyond  all  price.  In 
an  evil  hour  it  dropped  into  this  deep  river. 
While  it  floated  near  the  brink,  I  reached  out 
my  hand  to  regain  it ;  but  in  a  moment  it  was 
beyond  my  reach,  and  sank  down,  down,  until 

40 


THE  LOST  OKM. 


. 


THE    LOST    GEM.  43 

I  saw  it  no  more.     It  is  gone  ;  lost  forever !  " 
And  she  turned  gloomily  away. 

"  Stay,  mourner !  look  again  into  the  waters ! " 
She  looked,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  "  It  is 
there,  floating  upon  the  waves.  0,  shall  it 
not  be  mine  again  ?  w 

"Nay,  but  thou  art  deceived,"  was  the  an- 
swer. "  Thou  seest  only  the  semblance  of  what 
was  thine.    Yet  look  upward,  and  rejoice !  " 

She  obeyed,  and  beheld  a  star  gleaming  from 
a  bright  spot  of  azure  in  the  murky  sky,  whose 
reflection,  gilding  the  sullen  waves,  she  had 
mistaken  for  her  lost  gem. 

Breathing  these  soothing  words,  the  beautiful 
appearance  vanished :  — 

"  Mourner,  the  billows  that  seem  so  dark  and 
fearful  in  their  tossing  roll  up  to  the  golden 
gate  of  heaven.  They  have  borne  the  jewel 
which  was  lent,  not  given  to  thee,  to  its  right- 
ful owner,  the  Monarch  of  the  skies.  He  will 
keep  it  safe  and  bright.  That  which  was  count- 
ed a  gem  on  earth  shines  forever  as  a  star  in 
heaven." 


44  THE    LOST    GEM. 

The  mourner  departed  with  a  thoughtful  coun- 
tenance, no  longer  bending  earthward,  or  to- 
ward the  sorrowful  river  of  death  ;  but  meekly 
and  trustingly  raising  her  eyes  to  the  star,  which, 
beaming  into  her  spirit,  became  her  constant 
upward  guide. 

Mother,  who  weepest  for  thy  little  one,  so 
early  lost,  that  mourner  art  thou,  that  star  thy 
angel  child.  Dry  thy  tears,  and  be  glad ;  for 
hast  thou  not  a  treasure  in  heaven  ? 


DEATH  OF  THE  BUD  AND  THE  BLOSSOM. 

At  early  dawn  a  bud  was  blown  by  a  sweep- 
ing tempest  from  its  parent  bush.  Just  in  its 
opening  beauty,  all  balmy  and  dewy,  it  fell  upon 
the  grass.  The  tall  spires  waved  over  it  with 
sighs,  and  the  morning  sunbeam  looked  in  with 
a  subdued  smile  upon  the  broken  bud. 

In  the  evening  twilight,  a  full-blown  flower 
dropped  from  the  same  bush,  and  the  wind  scat- 
tered its  leaves  about  the  lawn.  The  faded 
petals,  scattered  here  and  there,  hardly  brought 
to  remembrance  the  once  lovely  flower.  Dark- 
ness closed  over  it,  and  the  beautiful  rose  was 
never  thought  of  again. 

Who  would  ask  to  live  after  the  freshness  of 
sympathy  has  exhaled  from  the  soul  ?  When 
we  say,  "  Blessed  are  the  early  dead,"  is  it 
wrong  to  desire  for  ourselves  a  similar  fate  ? 

45 


46   DEATH  OF  THE  BUD  AND  THE  BLOSSOM. 

Life  is  sweetest  in  its  first  unfolding  hopes  and 
dreams  ;  yet  the  sudden  pang  of  disappointment 
is  not  so  terrible  as  the  slow,  sure  progress  of 
satiety,  weariness,  and  decay. 

The  best  and  fairest  linger  not  long  in  the 
memory  of  the  living.  We  may,  we  must,  be 
forgotten  when  we  die  ;  but  most  bitter  is  it  to 
live  and  know  that  human  hearts  remember  us 
with  tenderness  no  more. 


LA   MONTAGNE    QUI    TREMPE  A   L'EAU. 

On  the  Mississippi,  not  far  from  Lake  Pepin, 
there  is  a  lofty  island  bluff,  called  by  the  French 
discoverers  "  La  montagne  qui  trempe  a  l'eau," 
which  the  pioneers  have  shortened  into  "  Mount 
Tromblo." 

This  "  soaking  mountain  "  starts  up  in  gruff 
boldness  from  the  water  to  intercept  a'  fair 
landscape  behind.  Travellers  floating  in  steam 
palaces  upon  the  river  make  a  memorandum 
of  it,  as  a  remarkable  feature  in  the  landscape. 
Venturing  to  climb  its  steep  sides,  they  find 
weeds  and  rattlesnakes  in  abundance  beneath 
the  dark  foliage,  but  scarcely  the  possibility 
of  a  better  crop.  Farmers,  in  passing,  look 
beyond  to  the  sunny  slopes,  which  lie  in  fertile 
quietness,   half  hidden   from   view,  waiting   to 

47 


48        LA    MONTAGNE    QUI    TREMPE    A    l'eAU. 

yield  up  their  richer  than  California!!  treasures 
to  the  hardy  sons  of  the  plough. 

One  is  reminded  by  this  mountain  island  of 
some  conceited  philosopher  stepping  into  the 
front  ranks  of  mankind,  and  thinking,  because 
he  looks  far  up  and  down  and  into  the  stream 
of  events,  that  he  is  a  benefit  and  honor  to 
the  race. 

Such  a  man  cannot  be  persuaded  that  he  may 
be  only  standing  in  the  light  of  better  though 
humbler  men.  Because  of  that  wondrous  far- 
sightedness by  which  he  looks  through  every 
thing  into  nothing,  he  scorns  the  realities  which 
are  accepted  by  people  of  nearer  vision.  De- 
fining their  goodness  by  clownish  ignorance,  he 
gravely  insists  that  even  the  evil  in  him  is  of 
a  noble  stock  and  a  glorious  tendency. 

But  honest,  simple-hearted  men  labor  on  with- 
out parade,  receiving  the  smiles  of  heaven,  and 
bearing  the  harvests  of  true  lives  on  earth. 


THE   WHIPPOORWILL. 

Why  are  the  whippoorwilPs  notes  more  sooth- 
ing than  those  of  gayer  daytime  warblers  ? 
Because  he  sings  at  eventide. 

Our  hearts  bound  to  the  light  carols  of  birds 
that  flutter  amid  the  sunbeams,  and,  when  day 
fades,  we  sigh  at  their  departure.  The  pensive 
notes  of  the  whippoorwill  are  in  unison  with 
our  farewell  thoughts,  and  we  unconsciously 
come  to  love  them  better  than  the  merry  strains 
that  are  hushed. 

So  is  it  with  our  hopes  while  the  evening  of 
life  draws  on.  Less  joyous  than  those  which 
rang  thrilling  amid  the  morning  dew  of  exist- 
ence, they  chime  in  with  our  sober  memories, 
and  subdue  while   they  also  cheer  our  hearts. 

And  so  is  it  with  the  friendships  of  mature 
years.     In  youth  we  sport  and  laugh  with  crea- 

4  49 


r 

50 

THE    WHIPPOORWILL. 

tures 

giddy 

as  ourselves,   and   think  that  we 

love 

them  as 

i  we  can  never  love  again.    But 

our  winged  friends  fly  away  with  the  sunshine, 

and 

leave  us    regretfully  treading   a  solitary 

road, 

,    Then 

a  low,  thoughtful  voice,  that  speaks 

with  serious  mildness  of  the  past  and  the  future, 
awakening  us,  meanwhile,  to  the  real  worth  of 
the  present,  touches  a  chord  that  before  lay 
hidden  within  ;  and  its  tones  become  dearer  to 
us  than  the  music  of  early  joy  and  love. 


THE    CHILD   AND   THE   FIREFLIES. 

The  dimness  of  twilight  fell  upon  a  white 
cottage  and  its  enclosure  of  trees  and  flower- 
ing shrubs.  As  the  darkness  increased,  fireflies 
came  and  swarmed  in  the  air  — a  shower  of 
living  jewels. 

"  0,  how  pretty ! "  cried  a  little  blue-eyed 
girl,  as  she  rushed  from  the  cottage,  with  her 
apron  outspread  to  capture  the  glittering  in- 
sects. Two  or  three  were  imprisoned  ;  and, 
seating  herself  upon  the  soft  grass  beneath  the 
trees,  she  carefully  inspected  her  booty.  As 
she  did  so,  her  sunny  face  became  clouded  over 
with  disappointment,  and  throwing  the  dull, 
brown  creatures  from  her  with  disgust,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  They  are  not  pretty  any  more !  " 

"  Ah  !  my  little  one  !  "  said  her  mother,  "  this 
is  but  a  symbol  of  the  more  bitter  disappoint- 

51 


52  THE    CHILD    AND    THE    FIREFLIES. 

ments  that  await  you  in  life.  Pleasures  will 
flutter  temptingly  around  your  path ;  and  you 
will  pursue  them  only  to  fling  them  from  you, 
and  cry,  '  They  are  beautiful  no  longer ! 7 

"  But  see,  your  released  fireflies,  bright  enough 
upon  the  wing,  sparkle  now  as  gayly  as  ever. 
Learn,  then,  not  to  despise  the  enjoyments  of 
earth,  nor  to  expect  from  them  satisfying  hap- 
piness. They  come  and  go  with  a  flash,  bright- 
ening the  darkness  of  our  mortal  life,  and  point- 
ing our  immortal  yearnings  to  paradise  for 
perfect  bliss." 


THE   GREAT  PALIMPSEST. 

God  first  wrote  with  his  finger,  on  tables  of 
granite,  limestone,  and  lava,  the  alphabet  of 
organic  life.  He  brightened  the  later  pages 
of  creation  with  all  the  combinations  of  light 
and  beauty,  and  stamped  upon  his  finished  work 
the  one  word  "Love,"  as  his  signet  and  the 
true  expression  of  himself.  Then  he  said,  "  It 
is  good." 

Afterwards  man  took  the  pencil  and  inscribed 
what  he  would.  Pleasant  pictures  appeared  — 
tents,  and  quiet  enclosures,  for  flocks  and  herds. 
Then  he  suffered  caprice  and  passion  so  to  mar 
his  work  that  only  a  soiled  and  blackened  page 
remained.  Again  arose  palaces,  cities,  and  gar- 
dens, but  only  to  be  blotted  out  again  with 
blood. 

Strange  stories  the  earth  will  tell,  when  all 

53 


54  THE    GREAT    PALIMPSEST. 

her  pages  are  opened  for  us  to  read.  There 
is  no  impulse  of  man's  heart  but  has  left  its 
transcript  upon  her  passive  surface. 

Obelisks  and  pyramids  exhibit  the  hollow 
epitaphs  which  Pride  has  engraved  for  himself. 
Affection  has  pencilled  poems  of  gentle  meaning 
on  cottage  homesteads  and  the  lowly  stones  of 
the  graveyard.  The  tragedies  of  Revenge  have 
been  scrawled  in  bloody  characters  on  battle 
grounds  ;  and  Peace  has  written  eloquent  ser- 
mons with  the  ploughshare  and  the  vessel's  keel. 

As  the  monks  of  the  dark  ages  rubbed  out 
from  the  convent  scrolls  the  precious  records 
of  antiquity,  and  substituted  their  own  tedious 
sophistries,  so  each  generation  tries  to  cover  and 
replace  that  which  is  already  written.  Thus 
our  earth  scroll,  alternately  ornamented  and 
blotted,  has  become  a  medley  of  erasures  and 
contradictions. 

Yet  write  on,  farmer,  with  the  harrow  and  the 
plough !  Thy  deep,  broad  lines  shall  never  be 
wholly  effaced. 

"Write  on,  sailor,  for  the  wave  in  vain  closes 
over  the  track  thy  rudder  has  made ! 


THE    GREAT    PALIMPSEST.  55 

Write  on,  builders,  amid  village  roofs  and 
the  gates  of  temples  ;  for  Nineveh  and  Hercu- 
laneum  call  out,  from  their  opening  tombs,  to 
tell  you  that  yours  is  no  bootless  labor ! 

Write  on,  statesmen,  and  all  men  of  thought, 
but  with  a  heedful  hand,  for  ye  write  indelibly 
upon  the  heart  of  empires ! 

But  let  the  sword,  the  lash,  and  the  heavy 
hand  of  tyranny  cease  their  cruel  penmanship 
forever. 

The  great  palimpsest,  Earth,  will  keep  a  faith- 
ful chronicle  of  all.  And  when  the  highest 
perfection  of  the  race  shall  have  been  reached, 
—  when  man  shall  write  his  best,  his  crowning 
word  upon  the  renewed  earth,  looking  through 
the  past,  — he  will  see  the  same  word  written 
primevally  beneath  his  follies  and  errors  by  the 
hand  of  the  All-Good. 

But  man  will  never  comprehend  the  mystery 
of  that  life-breathing  syllable,  "  Love,"  until  he 
has  learned  to  write  it  himself. 


RAINBOWS   EVERY   WHERE. 

Bending  over  a  steamer's  side,  a  face  looked 
down  into  the  clear,  green  depths  of  Lake  Erie, 
where  the  early  moonbeams  were  showering 
rainbows  through  the  dancing  spray,  and  chas- 
ing the  white-crested  waves  with  serpents  of 
gold.  The  face  was  clouded  with  thought  a 
shade  too  sombre,  yet  there  glowed  over  it 
something  like  a  reflection  from  the  iris  hues 
beneath.  A  voice  of  musing  was  borne  away 
into  the  purple  and  vermilion  haze  that  twilight 
folded  over  the  bosom  of  the  lake. 

"  Rainbows,  ye  follow  me  every  where  !  Glo- 
riously your  arches  arose  from  the  horizon  of 
the  prairies,  when  the  storm  king  and  the  god 
of  day  met  within  them  to  proclaim  a  treaty 
and  an  alliance.  You  spanned  the  Father  of 
Waters  with  a  bridge   that  put   to   the  laugh 

r>6 


^"""t 


RAINBOWS   EVERYWHERE. 


RAINBOWS    EVERY    WHERE.  59 

man's  clumsy  structures  of  chain,  and  timber, 
and  wire.  You  floated,  in  a  softening  veil,  be- 
fore the  awful  grandeur  of  Niagara ;  and  here 
you  gleam  out  from  the  light  foam  in  the  steam- 
boat's wake. 

"  Grateful  am  I  for  you,  0  rainbows  —for  the 
clouds,  the  drops,  and  the  sunshine  of  which  you 
are  wrought,  and  for  the  gift  of  vision  through 
which  my  spirit  quaffs  the  wine  of  your  beauty. 

"  Grateful,  also,  for  faith,  that  hangs  an  ethe- 
real halo  over  the  fountains  of  earthly  joy,  and 
wraps  Grief  in  robes  so  resplendent,  that,  like 
Iris  of  the  olden  time,  she  is  at  once  recognized 
as  a  messenger  from  heaven. 

"Blessings  on  sorrow,  whether  past  or  to 
come !  for,  in  the  clear  shining  of  eternal  love, 
every  teardrop  becomes  a  pearl.  When  we  say 
that  for  us  there  is  nothing  but  darkness  and 
tears,  it  is  because  we  are  weakly  brooding  over 
the  shadows  within  us.  If  we  dared  look  up, 
and  face  our  sorrow,  we  should  see  upon  it  the 
seal  of  God's  love,  and  be  calm. 

"  Grant  me,  Father  of  light,  whenever  my 
eyes  droop  heavily  with  the  rain  of  grief,  at 


60  RAINBOWS    EVERY    WHERE. 

least  to  see  the  reflection  of  thy  signet  bow  on 
the  waves  over  which  I  am  sailing  unto  thee. 
And  through  the  steady  toiling  of  the  voyage 
let  the  iris  flash  appear,  even  as  now  it  bright- 
ens the  spray  that  rebounds  from  the  laboring 
wheels." 

The  voice  died  away  into  darkness  that  re- 
turned no  answer  to  its  murmurings.  The  face 
vanished  from  the  boat's  side  ;  but  a  flood  of 
rainbow  light  was  pouring  into  the  serene 
depths  of  a  trusting  soul. 


THE  SONG  BEFORE  THE  STORM. 

In  the  soft  light  of  June,  the  birds  sit  upon 
the  hazel  boughs  and  sing  joyfully,  while  the 
warm,  giddy  winds  dance  to  their  music.  But 
the  winds  grow  weary,  and,  stealing  off  to  the 
forest,  they  sink  to  repose.  The  air  is  still  and 
sultry  ;  but  the  birds  sing  on. 

A  cloud  rises  ghost-like  from  the  west,  and 
sheds  a  pallor  over  the  landscape.  Louder  and 
merrier  sing  the  birds,  as  if  their  melody  might 
be  poured  out  as  a  libation  to  avert  the  storm 
god's  wrath.  Suddenly  comes  the  thunder  crash. 
The  hushed  songsters  fly  to  their  nests.  The 
affrighted  winds  start  from  their  sleep,  and  rush 
hither  and  thither  in  mad  terror  :  nothing  now 
is  heard  save  the  angry  roar  of  the  storm's  loud 
artillery. 

0  heart  of   man,  when  merry  thoughts  play 

61 


62      THE  SONG  BEFORE  THE  STORM. 

in  all  thy  resounding  depths,  and  rise  swiftly  to 
the  lips  as  bubbles  to  the  surface  of  a  clear 
lake  in  the  sunshine,  shouldest  thou  not  tremble  ? 
Seest  thou  not  a  cloud  rising  to  shadow  thy 
bright  horizon  ?  Too  often  is  the  wild  overflow 
of  merriment,  like  the  song  of  the  birds,  most 
loud  and  free  when  it  heralds  the  approach  of 
the  storm. 


FLOWERS  BENEATH  DEAD  LEAVES. 

Two  friends  were  walking  together  beside  a 
picturesque  mill  stream.  While  they  walked 
they  talked  of  mortal  life,  its  meaning  and  its 
end  ;  and,  as  is  almost  inevitable  with  such 
themes,  the  current  of  their  thoughts  gradually 
lost  its  cheerful  flow. 

"  This  is  a  miserable  world,"  said  one  ;  "  the 
black  shroud  of  sorrow  overhangs  every  thing 
here." 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  other.  "  Sorrow  is  not 
a  shroud  ;  it  is  only  the  covering  Hope  wraps 
about  her  when  she  sleeps." 

Just  then  they  entered  an  oak  grove.  It  was 
early  spring,  and  the  trees  were  bare  ;  but  last 
year's  leaves  lay  thick  as  snow  drifts  upon  the 
ground. 

"  The  liverwort  grows  here,  I  think  ;  one  of 

63 


64     FLOWERS  BENEATH  DEAD  LEAVES. 

our  earliest  flowers,"  said  the  last  speaker. 
"  There,  push  away  the  leaves,  and  you  will  see 
it.  How  beautiful,  with  its  delicate  shades  of 
pink,  and  purple,  and  green,  lying  against  the 
bare  roots  of  the  oak  trees !  But  look  deeper, 
or  you  will  not  find  the  flowers  ;  they  are  un- 
der the  dead  leaves." 

"  Now  I  have  learned  a  lesson  that  I  shall 
not  forget,"  said  her  friend.  "  This  seems  to 
me  a  bad  world  ;  and  there  is  no  denying  that 
there  are  bad  things  in  it.  To  a  sweeping 
glance,  it  will  sometimes  seem  barren  and  des- 
olate ;  but  not  one  buried  germ  of  life  and 
beauty  is  lost  to  the  all-seeing  eye.  Having 
the  weakness  of  human  vision,  I  must  believe 
where  I  cannot  see.  Henceforth,  when  I  am 
tempted  to  complainings  and  despair  on  account 
of  evil,  I  will  say  to  myself,  '  Look  deeper  ; 
look  under  the  dead  leaves,  and  you  will  find 
flowers/  " 


MISSISSIPPI  AND   MISSOURI. 

The  Mississippi  glides  down  from  the  roman- 
tic regions  of  the  north  ;  from  pellucid  lakes  ; 
from  verdant  bluffs  which  at  dawn  lean  against 
mountains  of  roseate  mist  ;  from  islands  all 
gracefully  entangled  with  the  foliage  of  the 
pawpaw,  the  Cottonwood,  and  the  grape  ;  from 
shores  where  the  willow  twig  and  the  trumpet 
flower  bend  to  touch  the  mimic  blossom  and 
bough,  that  reach  up  to  them  from  the  mirrored 
shore  beneath.  A  pure  and  a  peaceful  stream 
is  it,  then. 

The  Missouri  rushes  from  the  north-west,  the 
land  of  many  wigwams  and  unburied  toma- 
hawks, bringing  sand,  earth,  and  upturned  roots 
from  its  loose  shores  and  muddy  tributaries. 

The  two  rivers  meet,  as  it  were,  unwillingly. 
For  many  miles,  a  distinct  line  in  the  midst 

5  65 


66  MISSISSIPPI    AND    MISSOURI. 

of  the  stream  shows  their  mutual  repulsion. 
But  after  a  time  thick,  brown  flakes  are  visible 
upon  the  transparent  waters,  and  soon  both  are 
blended  in  one  dark,  powerful  river,  bearing  the 
hue  of  the  turbid  Missouri  flood,  and  the  name 
of  the  clear  Mississippi. 

Impetuous  as  human  passion,  the  great  river 
of  the  west  sweeps  onward  to  the  awaiting 
gulf,  and  suggests  to  the  thoughtful  traveller 
who  is  borne  upon  its  bosom  the  mingling  of 
good  and  evil  in  his  own  nature.  How  came 
the  strong  current  within  so  deeply  stained? 
Shall  he  name  for  his  fountain  head  the  pure 
or  the  foul,  or  both  ?  And  is  there  any  ocean 
broad  and  deep  enough  to  absorb  from  his  being 
the  pollutions  of  earth  ? 


THE   MOON. 

Two  boys  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  huge  crag 
by  the  seaside,  when  the  full  moon  was  shining 
down  upon  the  troubled  waves. 

"  How  large  the  moon  has  grown ! "  said  one 
of  them,  gazing  upon  its  reflection  in  the  water. 
u  See !  it  glistens,  and  spreads  like  a  fairy  ring ! 
And  as  the  circle  widens,  every  wave  has  a  dif- 
ferent tinge.  It  is  certainly  more  beautiful  here 
than  any  where  else." 

"  I  like  better  to  look  at  it,"  said  the  other, 
"  when  it  shines  into  the  quiet  lake  by  our  cot- 
tage. It  does  not  seem  so  large  there ;  but  then 
it  is  much  brighter,  and  its  outline  is  perfect 
and  clear.  See  there !  the  waves  grow  wilder, 
and  they  toss  poor  Luna  about,  until  I  am  sure 
she  cannot  recognize  her  own  face  in  that  mass 
of  confused  gleams." 

67 


68  THE    MOON. 

Does  a  great  man  become  really  greater  for 
the  hues  his  character  takes  upon  the  troubled 
sea  of  public  opinion  ?  How  often  must  he  see 
his  motives  distorted,  torn  piecemeal,  or  held 
up  in  a  false  light. 

The  noble  mind  is  best  understood  by  the 
loving  heart.  Greatness  may  shed  a  wide  splen- 
dor over  the  stormy  sea  of  ambition,  but  it  re- 
veals its  true  glory  amid  the  placid  and  holy 
serenity  of  home. 


THE    PRAIRIE   VIOLETS. 

A  broad  river  swept  onward  to  the  ocean. 
Upon  one  side  it  was  overhung  by  gigantic 
bluffs,  which  seemed  like  vast  pillars  to  support 
the  arch  of  the  sky.  From  the  other  side  a 
green  prairie  slanted  away,  until  its  distant 
edge  blended  with  the  dazzling  sunrise. 

A  traveller  came  to  the  bank  of  the  river. 
He  beheld  the  majestic  scenery,  and  listened 
to  the  solemn  flow  of  the  waters,  and  was  op- 
pressed with  wonder  and  awe.  But,  looking 
down,  he  saw  at  his  feet  a  cluster  of  delicate 
blue  flowers,  trembling  and  dropping  with  dew 
amid  the  grass  of  the  prairie.  And  when  lie 
saw  them  he  smiled ;  for  they  were  violets,  just 
such  as  grew  in  the  secluded  dells  of  his  home. 
And  the  sight  of  them  made  every  thing  look 

09 


70  THE    PRAIRIE    VIOLETS. 

more  beautiful  ;  nor  was  lie  longer  lonely  in 
the  mighty  solitude. 

The  traveller  went  his  way,  and  no  eye 
glanced  over  the'  landscape  save  that  of  the 
reposing  deer,  or  the  turtle  dove  flying  to  its 
nest  in  the  lonely  tree. 

Then  the  fragrance  of  the  violets,  rising  on 
the  cool  air,  at  last  mingled  with  the  clouds. 

Ever  lovely  are  the  meek  blossoms  of  humil- 
ity, but  never  lovelier  than  when  they  spring 
up  in  the  hearts  of  the  great  and  the  gifted. 
The  bold  sublimity  of  genius  overpowers  the 
gazer  ;  but  when  he  sees  it  united  with  the 
mild  and  unobtrusive  virtues,  he  is  softened  into 
love.  And,  imparting  to  greatness  its  chief 
glory,  the  odor  of  humble  goodness  ascends 
above  it,  and  is  accepted  as  sweetest  incense 
by  the  Majesty  of  heaven. 


THE   WEB   IN  THE   PATH. 

Walking  in  the  woods,  one  bland  May  noon, 
I  turned  my  footsteps  through  a  narrow  path- 
way that  led  up  to  the  breezy  summit  of  a  hill. 
A  tiny  gleam  of  silver,  flashing  before  my  eyes, 
caused  me  suddenly  to  pause.  A  spider  had 
drawn  his  gossamer  bar  from  one  green  limb 
to  another,  and  I  must  break  it  or  leave  the 
path. 

Flimsy  as  the  barrier  was,  hanging  there  in 
the  sunlight,  I  involuntarily  dropped  the  hand 
which  was  raised  to  destroy  it,  and  turned  aside 
into  the  long  grass.  Groping  through  the  thick 
undergrowth  of  hazel  bushes,  I  became  bewil- 
dered, and  at  length  found  myself  far  down  the 
tangled  hillside. 

"  Ah,"  thought  I,  while  striving  to  retrace  my 
steps  to  the  upland,  "  how  frequently  are  mortals 

71 


72  THE    WEB    IN    THE    PATH. 

beguiled  from  high  aims  !  And  the  current  of  a 
life,  how  often  is  it  wholly  changed  by  obstacles 
as  trifling  as  this ! 

"  A.  gay  joke,  it  may  be  ;  a  meaning  glance  ; 
an  idle  presentiment ;  something  we  might  dis- 
solve with  a  breath  ;  but  there  is  a  power  in 
its  very  weakness,  to  which  we  yield. 

"  Had  an  armed  warrior  disputed  our  passage, 
fearlessly  should  we  have  grappled  with  him  ; 
but  we  will  not  destroy  the  spider's  web,  and 
happy  for  us  if  darkness  and  a  maze  are  not 
our  reward." 


LILLA'S   LILIES. 

Lilla,  a  healthy  country  child,  ran  with  bare 
feet  into  the  water,  to  gather  pond  lilies  for 
a  fair  lady  who  was  strolling  by. 

"Ah,"  said  the  lady,  languidly,  "would  I 
were  as  happy  and  as  brisk  as  you !  And  so 
I  was,  when,  like  you,  a  careless  child." 

"  Don't  you  wish,"  asked  the  simple  Lilla, 
"  that  you  had  never  grown  up  ?  " 

"I  will  answer  you  thus,"  replied  the  lady, 
drawing  a  full-blown  lily  and  a  bud  from  the 
bunch  that  she  held.  "  The  flower  i^  mine,  the 
bud  yours  ;  and  you  see  that  the  last  is  shut 
up  in  its  thick  calyx,  and  has  no  fragrance." 

"  But,  dear  lady,"  rejoined  Lilla,  "  do  you  see 
those  many  small  black  insects  that  are  eating 
up  the  petals  of  your  flower  ?  I  think  I  prefer 
to  keep  my  close  little  bud,  since  I  know  that 
all  is  sound  and  pure  inside." 

73 


THE   MAID   OF   THE   MIST. 

The  pilgrim  to  Niagara  doubtless  remembers 
a  pert  little  steamboat,  which,  on  the  pleasant 
mornings  and  evenings  of  summer,  bears  travel- 
lers up  among  the  rainbows  that  swing  in  thun- 
der and  foam  before  the  wonderful  waterfall. 

Whatever  emotions  of  awe  or  of  dread  a  man 
has  ever  had  will  come  surging  through  him 
then,  while  he  is  borne  on,  against  angry  green 
eddies  and  between  jutting  rocks,  toward  the 
great  unbroken  wall  of  crystal,  which  seems,  for 
the  moment,  the  outermost  barrier  of  the  uni- 
verse itself. 

You  get  a  glimpse  of  the  rainbows  and  the 
watery  wall  —  you  may  even  imagine  that  you 
are  piercing  the  one,  and  grasping  the  other. 
But  suddenly  the  stormy  foam  comes  down, 
drenching  you,  blinding  you,   in   spite  of   the 

74 


MAID    OF   THE   MIST. 


I   .  . 


THE    MAID    OP    THE    MIST.  77 

India  rubber  robes  the  guides  have  wrapped 
you  in  ;  and  all  that  you  can  do  is  to  close 
your  eyes,  and  be  stunned  by  the  roar  of  fall- 
ing floods. 

Just  at  the  point  where  she  cannot  move 
another  foot  without  certain  destruction,  the 
daring  craft,  puffing  complacently  the  while, 
wheels  quickly  about,  brings  you  into  calmer 
water,  and  you  say,  "  I  have  seen  Niagara." 

Seen  Niagara  ?  No  ;  you  only  saw  that  you 
were  approaching  a  rainbow  and  a  deluge.  At 
the  grandest  moment  there  was  but  a  mist,  and 
a  chaos  of  strange,  thundering  echoes. 

Niagara  utters  its  hints  of  the  Infinite.  The 
Incomprehensible,  the  I  AM,  has  poured  a  vast 
torrent  of  his  glory  upon  the  earth,  through  the 
united  floods  of  nature  and  inspiration.  This 
may  men  approach,  and  they  shall  both  see  it 
spanned  with  rainbows  and  clouded  with  mists. 

Upborne  by  the  flimsy  barks  of  opinion,  they 
will  look  boldly  into  this  wonder  of  wonders, 
needing  no  glory-proof  vestments,  so  impervi- 
ously cloaked  are  they  with  sense.  And  when 
they  have   only  been   blinded  by  the  shadows 


78  THE    MAID    OF    THE    MIST. 

and  the  spray  from  the  Divine,  they  will  go 
away,  and  say  that  they  have  seen  and  know 
the  eternal  truth. 

Every  where  the  good  Father  has  sent  forth 
gentle  streams  of  his  love  for  us  to  glide  upon  ; 
but  when  a  mortal  claims  to  have  comprehended 
the  immensity  of  his  thoughts,  he  is  but  the 
trumpeter  of  his  own  folly. 

What  are  these  dogmas  of  ours  but  fragile, 
venturesome  boats,  to  which  a  voice  as  of  many 
waters  is  ever  saying,  "  Hitherto,  but  no  far- 
ther, shall  ye  come  n  ? 


OUR   FATHER'S   HOUSE. 

"  I  cannot  find  my  father's  house,7'  sobbed  a 
boy,  at  the  threshold  of  his  grandsire's  cottage, 
where  he  had  passed  the  night.  "  I  have  been 
through  the  fields,  and  close  to  the  stream  that 
runs  through  our  garden ;  but  I  could  not  see 
my  home." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  old  man,  "  your  home  is 
certainly  there.  Go  again,  and,  though  you 
should  not  see  it,  keep  right  in  the  path  until 
you  have  reached  the  door  ;  for  it  is  only  the 
morning  mist  that  hides  it  from  your  eyes." 

Dear  pilgrim  to  the  Celestial  City,  how  often 
have  thine  eyelids  drooped  with  heavy  tears, 
because  thou  couldst  not  see  thy  Father's  house 
away  in  the  blue  distance  !  Yet,  when  the  man- 
sions of  the  blessed  are  no  longer  visible,  think 
not  that  heaven  is  lost.     It  is  only  veiled  by 

79 


80  our 

thick  exhalations,  rising  cloud-like  from  the 
earth.  There  is  a  sun  whose  brightness  can  dis- 
pel them  all. 

Then  faint  not  in  the  way,  but  press  on  ;  and. 
even  from  out  the  mist  and  the  dimness,  the 
gates  of  pearl  shall  suddenly  open  to  receive 
thee  ;  and  the  wanderer  will  be  at  home. 


LIGHT   ON   THE    CLOUDS. 

Dull  and  sere  lay  a  prairie  in  autumn  ;  its 
withered,  trailing  grass  and  giant  weeds  whis- 
pering hoarsely  to  each  other  the  warning  of 
the  northern  blast.  Heavy  clouds,  tinged  with 
a  lurid  light,  slowly  arose,  and  hung  low  along 
the  starry  arch  above.  Heavier  they  grew,  and 
more  redly  they  glared,  as  if  a  pent  up  thunder- 
bolt were  about  to  burst  upon  the  desolate 
plain. 

Suddenly  a  sparkling  belt  of  fire  gleamed  up 
along  the  horizon.  Merrily  onward  danced  the 
flames,  prostrating  as  they  ran  grass,  weeds, 
and  faded  flowers.  The  prairie  was  on  fire, 
and  that  ominous  glare  was  only  its  reflection 
upon  the  clouds. 

0,  ye  who  look  out  anxiously  upon  the  broad 
field  of  humanity,  and  believe  that  ye  see  horrid 

6  81 


82  LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUDS. 

clouds,  charged  with  the  vengeance  of  Heaven, 
impending  over  it,  watch  those  clouds  in  faith 
rather  than  in  fear. 

The  purifying  as  well  as  the  scathing  fires 
are  at  work  in  society,  and  their  light  is  mir- 
rored on  high,  at  once  a  sign  of  terror  and  of 
hope. 

Vain  splendor,  perverted  power,  every  useless 
thing  must  be  swept  away  to  make  room  for 
a  world's  needed  harvest.  Some  flowers  must 
perish  with  the  weeds  ;  but  the  seeds  of  truth 
are  safely  garnered,  and  they  will  spring  up 
with  tenfold  beauty  in  the  fair,  coming  spring 
time. 

Happy  they  who,  with  a  true  prophetic  ken, 
see  in  the  fiery  clouds  the  harbinger  of  a  glo- 
rious era,  a  new  golden  age. 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  ORANGE  TREE. 

Shadows  from  the  leaves  of  an  orange  tree 
flitted  over  a  pale  boy's  forehead,  as  both  stood 
under  the  noonlight  of  an  August  sun.  The 
boy  gazed  with  wonder  at  the  beautiful  tree, 
with  its  white,  fragrant  blossoms  and  brighten- 
ing fruit ;  the  more  beautiful  because,  although 
the  native  of  a  sunnier  clime,  it  flourished  in 
the  bleak  air  of  the  New  England  shore. 

One  who  loved  him,  and  saw  him  there,  said, 
"  He  is  like  what  he  looks  upon.  Delicate  and 
sweet  is  his  youth  in  its  blossoming  ;  while 
manliness,  truth,  and  piety  ripen  early  in  his 
heart.  Yes  ;  he  is  like  the  orange  tree,  bear- 
ing both  fruit  and  flower  at  once." 

Winter  brought  snow,  and  sleet,  and  cold. 
They  sheltered  the  orange  tree,  where  it  might 
receive   the    coal  warmth,  nor  perish  by  the 


84     THE  BOY  AND  THE  ORANGE  TREE. 

frost.  They  kept  the  pale  boy,  too,  within,  lest 
he  should  breathe  the  deadly  chill  of  the  east 
wind.  But  earth  is  all  too  cold  a  place  for 
him.  He  watches  the  flowers  falling  from  the 
orange  tree,  and  sees  the  fruit  turn  yellower, 
and  knows  that  he  shall  never  behold  its  full 
ripening. 

And  now  the  one  who  loves  him  so  well 
glances  through  her  tears  from  the  tree  to  the 
boy.  Ah,  what  a  paleness  is  there  settling  upon 
his  brow ! 

It  is  the  blossom  fading,  dropping  to  the 
earth.  The  fruit  was  all  but  ripened  for  thee, 
drooping  mourner  ;  be  content  that  the  angels 
gather  it.  Will  it  not  round  into  more  glow- 
ing perfection  beneath  the  genial  air  of  heaven  ? 


THE  DOVES  IN  THE  COURT  HOUSE. 

It  was  such  a  prospect  as  one  often  has  in 
a  city  ;  a  dead  level  of  brick  wall,  with  one 
crescent-shaped  window  near  the  top.  It  was 
the  wall  of  the  court  house.  The  window  was 
open,  and  doves  were  fluttering  in  and  out,  coo- 
ing, and  making  of  their  Quaker-colored  plumes 
a  soft  oasis  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon,  after  trav- 
elling over  the  dry,  red  Sahara  of  brick.  The 
pillared  entrance  was  on  another  side  ;  and,  in 
the  rotunda  below,  men  were  wrangling  about 
law,  and  lands,  and  offices,  and  dollars.  Strong 
and  bad  passions,  nested  like  vultures  in  their 
hearts,  had  come  out,  and  were  angrily  beaking 
each  other. 

If  the  doves  had  flown  in  among  them,  they 
would  have  met  such  a  greeting  as  this  :  "  The 

85 


86     THE  DOVES  IN  THE  COURT  HOUSE. 

mean,  tame  things,  what  business  have  they 
here  ?  " 

But  they  never  went  there  to  be  driven  out 
again  ;  there  was  nothing  dove-like  to  win  them. 
They  flew  up  towards  the  dome,  and  rested  in 
the  window  nearest  heaven,  seeming  to  brood 
with  a  gentle  wonder  over  the  stately  edifice  ; 
as  if  they  felt  it  strange  for  man  to  forget  al- 
ways, in  loud  and  fierce  debates,  that  the  voice 
of  wisdom  is  like  the  voice  of  a  dove. 

Will  this  truth  ever  be  received  ?  Will  love 
and  peace,  doves  of  paradise,  scorned  on  earth 
for  their  heavenly  gentleness,  and  forced  to 
wheel  away  upward  for  still  and  pure  air,  ever 
gain  an  entrance  into  the  halls  of  the  rulers  ? 

"  Not  while  I  am  alive,"  screams  the  raven 
Selfishness.  And  when  doves  are  admitted  into 
court  houses,  no  more  court  houses  will  need  to 
be  built. 


THE   BROKEN  ICICLE. 

A  massive  icicle  hung  over  the  window  of 
my  friend's  chamber.  She  beckoned  me  to  her 
from  an  adjoining  room.  "  Let  us  break  it  off," 
she  said,  "and  carry  it  in  to  surprise  our 
friends  who  have  met  here  this  evening." 

So  we  opened  the  window,  and  gazed  at  the 
broad  spar  of  crystal,  hanging  in  the  cold  moon- 
light like  the  spear  of  a  northern  giant.  Then, 
uniting  our  strength,  with  clasped  hands  we 
tried  to  remove  it  from  its  clinging-place.  But 
no  sooner  was  it  detached  from  the  roof  than 
the  broad  base,  unused  to  being  supported  by 
its  apex,  fell  off,  and  was  scattered  in  a  thou- 
sand fragments  upon  the  pavement  below.  So 
the  roof  lost  a  grand  icicle,  and  we  stood  hold- 
ing carefully  a  mere  frozen  drop,  such  as  might 

87 


THE    BROKEN    ICICLE. 


be    found    hanging    from    any  low    shed    on    a 
January  morning. 

Just  in  this  way  we  both  had  often  tried  to 
bring  out  the  frostwork  of  fancy  from  its  sparry 
caves  within.  To  our  eyes  it  glittered  with 
wonderful  splendor,  and  we  thought  our  friends 
too  would  admire  it,  and  be  astonished  at  our 
powers.  But,  becoming  a  little  dizzy  with  self- 
satisfaction  at  the  magnitude  and  glitter  of  our 
thoughts,  and  the  shining  mass  utterly  refusing 
to  give  itself  up  to  the  dull  grasp  of  words, 
we  were  suddenly  left  in  the  midst  of  confused 
glimpses  of  ideas,  with  only  a  fragment  to  show 
for  what  had  been  so  magnificently  conceived. 

Little  harm  was  done,  however,  if  our  aim 
was  only  to  dazzle,  and  not  to  warm. 


THE   VEILED    STAR. 

A  prisoner  lay  in  a  dungeon,  damp,  gloomy, 
and  silent.  No  light  came  there  save  through 
one  small  aperture  high  up  in  the  roof.  This 
he  watched  through  the  long  day,  until  his  eyes 
were  weary  of  the  unchanging  speck  of  blue. 

But  when  the  curtain  of  night  fell  over  his 
prison,  a  star  came  and  looked  down  upon  him 
for  a  few  hours,  as  if  to  soothe  his  misery.  The 
prisoner  loved  the  star,  for  he  thought  it  said 
to  him,  "  Cheer  thee,  captive !  haply  thou  wilt 
never  again  behold  the  fair  earth  ;  bat  my  eye 
rests  on  a  better  land,  where  fetters  are  unknown, 
and  thou  shalt  walk  in  freedom  forever." 

So  the  prisoner  lay  and  longed  for  the  dark- 
ness, that  his  spirit  might  talk  with  the  star. 
But  one  evening  he  watched  for  it  in  vain. 
There  shone   no    soft,   yellow  beam  ;   all   was 

89 


90  THE     VEILED     STAR. 

dark  as  the  walls  of  his  dungeon.  Another 
night  passed,  and  still  the  star  did  not  appear. 
Then  he  moaned  bitterly,  saying,  "  0  star,  thou 
earnest  but  to  mock  my  sad  heart.  Better  hadst 
thou  never  lighted  up  this  loathsome  den,  than  to 
lend  only  a  momentary  and  deceitful  glimmer." 

But  the  third  night  it  came  and  gazed  upon 
him  as  kindly  as  ever,  for  the  clouds  by  which 
it  had  been  hidden  had  passed  away.  Then 
the  captive  said,  "Now,  sweet  star,  thou  art 
more  welcome  than  before  ;  because  I  mourned 
thee  as  lost,  when  thou  wert  only  veiled." 

For  thee,  weary  and  groaning  one,  crushed 
to  the  dust  by  whatever  power  of  evil,  shines 
Hope,  the  fairest  of  stars.  Perhaps  its  ray  is 
so  distant  that  the  cloud  which  hides  it  may 
be  no  larger  than  a  man's  hand.  Alas  that 
so  often  it  is  the  hand  of  a  brother  man,  and 
no  cloud  ! 

But  shadows,  which  are  of  the  earth,  must 
pass  away.  Hope,  immortal  Hope,  shall  return 
to  reflect  unto  thee  the  light  of  a  world,  where 
the  sighing  of  the  oppressed  shall  be  hushed 
in  eternal  peace. 


THE    FAIRY   IN   THE    ICE    FOREST. 

A  band  of  fairies,  making  a  flying  tour  by 
moonlight,  came  suddenly  upon  the  borders  of 
a  northern  forest.  Alternate  storms  of  snow 
and  rain  had  clothed  the  trees  in  garments  of 
virgin  whiteness.  The  beams  of  the  full  moon 
were  glancing  in  a  dazzling  dance  among  the 
branches,  and  chasing  the  weird  shadows  through 
the  dim  aisles  of  the  wood,  arched  with  icicles, 
and  paved  with  gems  of  frost.  The  fairies  fold- 
ed their  wings  and  gazed  in  mute  wonder,  for 
there  was  nothing  half  so  gorgeous  in  fairyland. 
But  when  the  night  blast  swept  by  them  they 
shuddered,  and  bethought  them  of  the  warmer 
light  of  their  own  fragrant  groves. 

As  they  were  departing,  one  of  the  fairest  of 
the  band  came  and  bowed  before  the  queen, 
murmuring,  "  A  boon  !  n 

91 


92  THE    FAIRY    IN    THE    ICE    FOREST. 

"  What  wilt  thou  ?  "  said  the  fairy  sovereign, 
touching  the  suppliant  with  her  tiny  sceptre. 

"  0,  let  me  dwell  in  this  beautiful  place ! " 
was  the  request. 

"  Foolish  one,  wouldst  thou  forsake  thy  sisters 
for  this  cold,  glittering  land  ?  Then  be  it  so  ! 
Farewell !  »  And  they  sped  lightly  down  the 
valley. 

The  fairy,  rejoicing  in  her  new  and  splendid 
lot,  danced  gayly,  and  sang  many  a  rich  carol 
beneath  the  jewelled  canopy  of  the  boughs  ; 
and  the  sprites  of  the  snow  stood  behind  the 
huge  fir  stems  to  hear  her  song,  ringing  so  clear 
and  sweet  through  the  wood. 

But  long  ere  the  moon  waned  her  voice  fal- 
tered, and  her  step  became  languid.  She  had 
forgotten  that  her  fragile  form  was  made  for  a 
sunnier  clime,  and  might  not  bear  the  chill  at- 
mosphere about  her.  Slowly  she  yielded  to  the 
piercing  cold,  and,  at  last,  sank  benumbed  upon 
a  snow  wreath.  0,  how  she  longed  for  the 
cherishing  arms  of  her  sisters,  and  for  her  loved 
and  lovely  fairyland  !  The  snow  spirits  gath- 
ered about  her  in  their  spangled  robes  ;  but  their 


THE    FAIRY    IN    THE    ICE    FOREST.  93 

voices  were  strange,  and  their  breath  fell  like 
ice  upon  her  cheek.  The  stars  passed  over  her 
head  with  a  cold,  distant  gaze.  Flashes  of  au- 
roral radiance  shot,  glaring,  athwart  the  sky, 
seeming  to  mock  her  agony.  Every  thing  about 
her  was  glorious  ;  but  what  was  its  brightness 
to  her?  Faintly  one  last  vain  cry  arose  from 
her  shroud  of  drifting  snow  :  "  Sisters !  0  sis- 
ters!  I  cannot  live  in  this  fearful  brightness! 
Why  did  I  leave  your  love  for  this  frozen  glory, 
this  living  death  ?  n 

Humble  yet  gifted  one,  sigh  not  to  break 
from  the  heart  circlet  that  clasps  thee  in  the 
warm  beauty  of  a  lowly  home.  Pine  not  to 
roam  at  large  amid  the  fitful  and  mysterious 
gleams  that  flash  out  from  the  lofty,  shining 
realm  of  Fame.  The  warm  affections  of  many 
a  soul  have  been  congealed  by  its  frigid  air. 
Its  splendor  is  all  a  wondrous  cheat ;  like  the 
glittering  ice  forest,  above,  around,  and  beneath, 
it  is  cold,  freezing  cold. 


THE    STEAM   WHISTLE. 


It  is  a  wild,  unearthly  death  shriek,  startling 
the  ear  in  the  still  summer  eventide,  or  at  the 
breathless  noon  of  night.  No  wonder  the  In- 
dians around  Lake  Pepin  answer  it  with  their 
most  hideous  whoops  and  yells,  for  it  warns 
them  away  from  the  last  of  their  ancestral 
strongholds. 

It  is  the  tocsin  for  another  Bartholomew  mas- 
sacre of  the  beautiful,  the  old,  and  the  grand. 

Shriek !  Down  with  your  wigwams,  Chippe- 
was  and  Sioux !  they  are  right  in  the  path  of 
the  iron  horse  ;  but  he  will  condescend  to  use 
them  for  provender.  Run  faster,  Mississippi  and 
Niagara,  or  you  will  be  overtaken  and  exhaled 
through  his  monstrous  lungs.  Humble  your 
proud  heads,  White  Hills,  Alleghanies,  and  ye 
Rocky  Mountains,  for  your   time  shall   come  ; 

94 


THE    STEAM    WHISTLE.  95 

your  sides  shall  be  seamed  and  scarred,  until 
the  winds  of  all  your  summits  wail  over  your 
ruined  symmetry.  Back  to  your  sod,  grim  rev- 
olutionary ghosts  !  they  have  laid  the  rails  over 
the  battle  grounds  of  Bennington  and  Stillwater  : 
and  if  you  rise  in  rebuke,  you  will  only  be  mis- 
taken for  a  puff  of  vapor  from  the  locomotive. 
Shriek  !  whistle  !  shriek  !  What  is  that  lying 
across  the  track  ?  Only  the  mangled  corpse  of 
Romance.  Off  with  it,  cowcatcher  !  All  right, 
now  !    Put  on  more  steam  ! 


DEW   ON  THE    GRASS   BLADE. 

In  a  narrow  woodpath  every  blade  of  grass 
had  received  the  blessing  of  the  night  dew  : 
now  and  then  one  still  held  a  quivering  pearl 
poised  upon  its  tip  ;  but  most  had  shaken  off 
the  silvery  baptism,  coquetting  with  the  morn- 
ing breeze.  One  green  blade  bent  lower  than 
the  rest,  under  the  weight  of  large  drops  that 
hung  upon  it  in  a  crystal  chain.  In  vain  the 
breeze  ran  by  with  a  gush  of  laughter  ;  in  vain 
the  tall  blades  above  whispered  of  insects  with 
gay,  gossamer  wings,  that  fluttered  among  them, 
and  of  the  sunny  landscape  around  ;  in  vain 
the  sunbeams  tried  to  edge  through  the  shad- 
owing leaves  to  steal  its  jewels  ;  the  blade  lay 
cool  and  still  in  its  shelter,  gaining  freshness 
from  its  precious  burden.  Only  when  imperial 
day   came,   and   claimed    the    dewdrops  to  be 

9G 


DEW  ON  THE  GRASS  BLADE.       97 

woven  into  his  rainbow  crown  and  vest  of  sun- 
set clouds,  were  they  resigned  ;  and  strong  and 
green  the  bent  grass  blade  arose  and  waved 
above  the  scorched  and  shrivelled  herbage  of 
the  woodpath  side. 

So  the  heart  loves  to  bow  under  the  refresh- 
ing burden  of  gratitude.  And  the  richer  the 
blessing  it  has  received,  the  lowlier  it  becomes, 
and  the  more  it  seeks  to  shrink  away  from  the 
distracting  sights  and  noises  of  earth,  and  make 
a  crown  and  an  inward  life  of  the  influence  by 
which  it  has  been  blessed.  And  with  the  fresh- 
ness of  grateful  emotions  within,  it  can  better 
resist  the  dust  and  the  glare  without,  and  spring 
up  in  dewy  strength  to  gladden  a  parched  and 
despairing  world. 
7 


THE   SEA   AND   THE   SKY. 


The  sea  is  but  an  imperfect  mirror  of  the  sky. 
It  reflects  the  gray  rain  clouds,  more  dull  and 
leaden  than  themselves  ;  and  the  hues  of  sunset, 
in  their  soft  blending,  are  spread  out  upon  it 
with  a  molten,  glittering  splendor.  The  mariner 
at  the  helm  sees  the  Lion  and  the  Scorpion  of 
the  zodiac,  and  Lyra  and  Arcturus,  and  all  the 
stars  that  guide  his  course,  gliding  over  the 
waves  beneath  him,  clearest  in  the  calm,  when 
he  least  needs  their  light.  Of  the  nebulous 
fields  of  space  behind  the  golden  bars  of  the 
constellations,  the  sea  gives  but  the  faintest 
shadow,  white  and  dim. 

Sirius,  brightest  of  telescopic  suns,  is  only  a 
star  to  unaided  eyes.  All  that  we  see  of  the 
vast  spiritual  depths  beyond  appears  in  minia- 
ture, narrowed  to  the  angle  of  our  mortal  vision. 


THE    SEA    AND    THE    SKY.  99 

What  is  visible  to  us  we  call  real  ;  yet  it  is  no 
more  than  a  dim  reflection  and  shadow  picture 
of  the  great  reality. 

The  image  of  the  Infinite  is  within  us,  but 
faint  from  the  distance,  broken  by  the  wild 
surges  of  sorrow  and  sin.  When  earth  and  sea 
shall  have  passed  away,  what  form  will  the 
soul  take  upon  itself?  Perhaps,  resolved  into 
its  pure  elements,  it  shall  become  a  clear  me- 
dium to  receive  and  transmit  the  thoughts  of  its 
divine  Original.  Is  not  this  what  it  tosses  and 
stretches  after,  moaning  over  itself,  and  vainly 
lashing  its  physical  boundaries? 

What  are  we  ?  what  shall  we  be  ?  and  how 
shall  we  be  what  we  may  ?  The  waves  of 
human  thought  roll  these  questions  towards  each 
other  with  vague,  mournful  murmurs,  but  bring 
no  answer.  Yet  must  there  be  an  answer  ;  and 
the  troubled  sea  will  not  rest  until  it  is  found. 


A   GLEAM  OF   SUNSHINE. 


It  glanced  like  a  spirit  past  the  window.  I 
knew  it  was  in  the  garden,  burnishing  the  gay, 
stiff  uniforms  of  the  hollyhocks  ;  dancing  about 
to  hang  a  separate  pearl  on  every  leaf  of  the 
currant  bushes,  and  sprinkling  silver  dust  upon 
the  spray  of  the  fallen  asparagus. 

I  knew  it  would  not  be  so  beautiful  again  as 
just  at  this  moment,  while  its  jewelled  footstep 
was  gliding  over  the  dewy  sides  of  the  peach 
leaves,  letting  the  heavy  masses  of  foliage  sink 
in  deep  shadow  underneath  ;  and  yet  I  did 
not  rise  to  enjoy  it.  In  a  few  minutes  I  meant 
to  leave  my  book  and  go.  But  by  that  time  the 
old  dog-day  hues  had  returned  to  every  thing, 
cloudy,  drizzly,  and  foggy  ;  and  in  the  garden, 
nothing  but  the  shadows  of  dark  shades. 

I  had  failed  to  secure  one  picture  of  beauty 

100 


A    GLEAM    OP    SUNSHINE.  101 

to  hang  up  in  my  heart's  gallery  for  a  perpet- 
ual joy.  So  I  sat  down  again  and  wondered  if 
those  who  complain  that  this  is  a  world  without 
sunshine  do  not  often  choose  to  remain  in  their 
own  shadow,  or  that  of  somebody  else,  when 
there  is  a  gleam. 


THE   SMILE   OF   THE    GREAT   SPIRIT. 

Lovely  as  the  meaning  of  thy  name  art  thou, 
Winnipisseogee  ;  and  fair  are  the  islands  that 
rise  from  thy  placid  waters  as  pleasant  words 
which  are  twin  born  with  a  smile. 

Fair,  too,  are  the  embracing  mountains  set  to 
guard  thee,  whether  starbeams  cincture  their 
heads,  or  white  clouds  hang  in  a  fleecy  girdle 
about  their  sides  ;  or  the  rain  and  the  mist  pass 
over  them  with  ever-shifting  hues,  as  the  inmost 
emotions  of  the  soul  are  changefully  shaded 
upon  a  face  that  speaks  without  words. 

And  silent  and  solemn  are  the  bold  mountain 
peaks  that  loom  up  behind,  beckoning  the  wan- 
derer through  the  long  perspective  to  hills  on 
hills  beyond  ;  which  scaling,  he  shall  at  length 
behold  the  lofty  White  Hills  of  the  north. 

Friend,  in  whose  presence  was  first  revealed 

102 


THE    SMILE    OP    THE    GREAT    SPIRIT.         103 

to  me  the  beauty  of  the  blue  New  Hampshire 
hills,  — smiling  through  the  hazy,  floating  veil 
of  retreating  summer,  or  paling  and  darkening 
with  the  changes  of  the  weeping  clouds,  —  the 
sunlight  of  thy  broad  humanity  has  made  clearer 
to  me  the  charm  and  the  blessing  of  life's  pres- 
ent realities  and  dimly-outlined  mysteries  ;  and 
has  shown  me  the  smile  of  the  Great  Spirit,  ever 
serenely  reflected  from  amid  the  wearisome  and 
sorrowful  mountains  of  existence. 

What  lies  beyond  those  mountains?  Fairer 
islands,  stiller  waters,  than  these ;  grander 
heights  of  mystery,  too,  the  cloudy  wonders  of 
whose  summits  are  glorious  with  unutterable 
splendor  from  the  eternal  Light ;  but  over  those 
heights  will  never  darken  the  mists  of  human 
doubt,  the  rain  of  human  sorrow. 


1 


Larcom.   Licy 
— Similituaes 


m26S7 


963 
L319 

8 


M42657 


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VC159484 


